


Mom Would've Believed Me

by MsDay



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Coming Out, Implied/Referenced Underage, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 07:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19848376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsDay/pseuds/MsDay
Summary: Stiles texts 'Daddy-o' instead of 'Daddy'. Awkwardness ensues.





	Mom Would've Believed Me

**Author's Note:**

> [Noah? Never heard of him...](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EAwWPadFsOA)

John sighs and rubs his face with both hands. Sometimes he loves his job, when he can turn to the victim or their family and say ‘we did it, we caught the guy,’ but this, this is just tedious. He knows the value of grunt work, after all, he wasn’t born a sheriff, but that doesn’t mean he has to enjoy every second of it.

He, the whole office, is currently searching through months of phone records of nearly a dozen suspects looking for ‘something odd’. That’s it, that’s what they’re trying to find. All but one of the suspects is in their 20’s, it’s all odd to John. 

He glances over at the microwave, 2:41. He’s going to bed, the records will still be there in the morning. Maybe he should leave it all out. When Stiles comes back in the morning and sees the police folders everywhere he’ll be tempted; that boy never met a temptation he didn’t indulge. Maybe he’ll see something John doesn’t. 

Before he can convince himself that that’s not really a good idea, he gets a text. From Stiles. He frowns, Stiles should be at Scott’s. He rolls his eyes and opens it. Then drops his phone. That is definitely a text intended for someone else. He hopes. _at jugnel pick meup so ii cn suck ur cock_.

The phone is laying on the table, face up and he can still see the words. “Really, Stiles?” He rubs his face again, this time in the hopes of waking himself up a bit more. “Dammit,” he picks up the phone and dials Stiles. 

When he answers, there’s music in the background, but he can still hear Stiles’ “Hey, pops, what’s up?” He must be outside. 

“Stiles. Why are you at Jungle when you told me that you would be at Scott’s?” There’s an obnoxious laugh on the other end from someone who’s obviously shit faced. 

“Uhh, what? I am at Scott’s.” The background din quiets a bit but John can still hear it well enough to identify the remixed Katy Perry song playing. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose, “really” he says, “cause you just texted me that you’re at Jungle.” 

Stiles snorts, something he wouldn’t do if he weren’t three sheets to the wind. He’s usually a better liar than that. He waits for Stiles to put it together. There’s a gasp and a rustling noise, an ‘oh, shit’ away from the phone and then another voice, “hello?” It’s artificially high, someone with masculine vocal chords embracing their feminine side, “who is this?” 

What. John straightens in his seat, “who is this?” he injects as much ‘sheriff’ into his voice as he can. 

“This is Connie, who is this?” She sounds amused, now. 

Johns eyebrows skyrocket. “Lingus?” There’s silence on the other end. “This is the sheriff.” She laughs, loud and right in his fucking ear. Connie is a staple of the BHPD office, always in and out of one cell or another, usually for solicitation, but sometimes for drunk and disorderly. Unfortunately for Beacon County, her cousin is a hot-shot lawyer in LA and always manages to get the charges dropped. He doesn’t even have to come in to the station to do it anymore. 

“Sheriff! Are you coming down?” Her voice drops and octave, “will you wear the uniform?” 

That’s enough of that, he gets up and grabs the keys for his off-duty vehicle as he makes his way outside. “Put my son back on the phone, please.” There’s no need to be rude. Not yet. 

“Stiles, your Daddy’s on the phone,” she sing-songs in Johns ear. There’s a loud groan from somewhere off screen and Connie laughs again, “I don’t think he wants to talk to you.” 

“Thank you, Connie, I’d gathered,” John sighs, “look, I’m on my way, can you make sure he doesn’t go anywhere?” 

Of course it’s not as easy as ‘sure thing, Sheriff’, instead, she says, “What kind of reward are you offering?” 

He rolls his eyes, “how about quicker processing the next time you’re brought in?” She makes a pleased sound, which he takes as a yes, and before she can say anything else he rushes out, “great, thanks, be there in ten.” He hangs up on her and starts the car. Longest conversation of his life. 

Stiles is sitting on the steps of the used bookstore next door, looking pale and sick. Connie and a few of her friends are milling around on the sidewalk out front. Stiles spots him before he makes it all the way over. He’s up like a shot and walking over to the car before John can thank Connie for babysitting. His 17-year-old son needs a babysitter. He waves a ‘thank you’ over to the group when Connie looks over at them. She waves back and winks, blows him a kiss. He ignores it. 

Stiles is already buckled in when he makes it back to the car. “Did you get your phone back?” He nods. John sighs and starts the car. 

He lets Stiles stew for a few minutes before he speaks again. “So what’s his name?” Stiles tenses and looks out his window. “C’mon, kid. I know you weren’t really texting me.” He still doesn’t answer. That’s fine, John’s the sheriff, he’ll work it out.

Stiles is the kind of person to put contacts in his phone under weird nicknames. He’s also the kind of person to change those nicknames frequently. The last time he saw his nickname in his son’s phone, it had been ‘Paternal Parental Partisan’; the time before that it was the old man emoji. Really, it could be anything now. 

He sent and explicit text to his father instead of his beau. He has a sinking suspicion of what his new nickname is, and what his beau’s nickname is. Or the idea behind them. He hates to even think it, but it’s most likely that they both have nicknames derived from ‘Daddy’. Now that he is thinking about it, Stiles hasn’t called him ‘Daddy’ for a while now, ‘Daddy-o’ sometimes, ‘Daddy-kins’, even ‘Da-da’ last week, but not ‘Daddy’. 

“How old is he?” He keeps his tone light, conversational. He’s mad that Stiles lied to him, went to a club and got drunk, he’s not mad that Stiles has a boyfriend and he doesn’t want Stiles to think that he is. Stiles doesn’t say anything, so John continues, “is he older than me?” Still nothing. 

He’s not ashamed to admit that he’s ‘vanilla’ in his relationships, sexual or romantic, but he knows that a Daddy, he tries not to cringe at the thought, doesn’t have to be older than the, what, little boy? He does cringe that time. The law is very specific about sex with minors, like Stiles, and even playing at that kind of dynamic puts his hackles up. 

This is getting him nowhere, time to change course, “Is it Parish?” 

Stiles whips his head around with a startled, “No!” Oh good, a reaction. 

“Well what else should I think?” Stiles goes back to his window and he looks so forlorn that John thinks it should be raining. They pull up to a red light and he looks over to Stiles, “look, kid. I know that grownups, parents in particular, like to pretend that they weren’t teenagers, but I was, and I remember. I’m not mad that you’re seeing someone,” he takes a deep breath, “I’m not even mad that you’re... having sex.” He huffs at his own ineptitude. “I just want,” he rubs a hand over the back of his neck, “if you have someone in your life, I want to meet him, that’s all.” 

Stiles crosses his arms over his stomach and sinks down into his seat. He’s looking out the wind shield and the green light makes him look sickly. Stiles opens the car door and gets out. “Stiles,” John calls after him, but rather than leave, turn down a side street or hop a fence, he goes over to the sewer grate, leans over it and throws up. Maybe it wasn’t the light that made him look sick. 

John is still watching him when he stumbles his way back into the car. “Just tell me he’s not someone’s actual father,” he sighs. 

Stiles makes a sour face and goes back to hugging his middle, “I don’t know anyone with a father.” Kind of true, though, not what was asked. It does make him feel better to know his son isn’t sleeping with one of his friends’ fathers. 

“Jackson Whitmore has a father.” No, he’s never going to let that go. Stiles shiver-jerks hard enough that the car moves with him. Not Mr. Whitmore, esquire, then. Stiles is starting to shiver for real now, the car is probably significantly cooler than Jungle and with vomiting comes chills. He turns back to the road but the light is red again. 

He sighs again, it’s a sighing kind of night, it seems. “I just don’t know why you didn’t tell me, unless he’s illegally older than you...” Stiles scoffs. And that makes him frown. “What?”

Stiles mumbles something just as a car horn sounds from behind them. Whoops. He sticks his hand out the window to wave an apology at the person behind them and starts driving again. “What was that?” He’s not looking at Stiles anymore so he can’t see any reaction. Time to pull out the big guns; no one can guilt trip like a Jewish Mother, and since Stiles had actually had a Jewish Mother... He pushes the thought aside and dives in head first, “I just want to be a part of your life, we don’t talk anymore-”

“I said ‘I tried’,” he snaps, then, quieter, “you didn’t believe me.” he shrinks even farther into the seat and now John feels like shit. He had. The last time John caught him at Jungle. He’d back tracked, though; said he was there for Danny. He shakes his head at himself, of course he’d back tracked, John had all but called him a liar when he was trying to come out.

He turns onto their street and can't think of anything to say that won't make it worse. Stiles has his seat belt unbuckled before the car is stopped. He’s unlocking the front door as John steps out of the car. he’d gone to pick up his drunk son before he got himself hurt and in his attempt at some sort of bonding, managed to alienate him instead. He wonders how many more times they can push each other away before their relationship is completely destroyed.

Stiles may not have said it, but John heard it anyway...

**Author's Note:**

> Ms. Lingus isn't mine but I love her so much. I sincerely hope that the_deep_magic doesn't mind me borrowing her. She can be found in the [Derek Hale: Werewolf Cop Series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/64507). You should go read that next.


End file.
